Concepts of the Misinformed
by Dommi-chan
Summary: Things that you overhear are not always as cut and dry as they seem...or so Ray and Winston wish they knew....


Concepts of the Misinformed  
An "I need to get out more" Real Ghostbusters fanfic  
By Dommi-chan  
  
I read way, way, WAY too much TRGB fanfic one day. This wouldn't leave me alone…I'm more retarded than previously thought. *snickers evilly* Just read and find out. I'd say this is PG-13/light R for innuendo, cursing, and naughtiness.  
  
Plot bunnies are bad, bad things. Not to mention adding that to an extremely dirty sense of humour and tons of David Bowie, Queen, and Christina Aguleira's "Dirrty" on your play list. I'll apologize now if this makes anyone cry. It nearly made me do so to write it.  
  
Our dear boys Egon, Peter, Ray, and Winston so belong to Columbia Pictures and DiC. That is DiC, not Dommi. Notice how they sound nothing alike. "Good Morning, Starshine" belongs to…uh…whoever wrote it. Does anyone have any clue who did? 'Cause I got nothing.  
  
And awaaaaaaaaaaaayyyyyyyyyyy we go….  
  
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"Say, whoever you are, you know what Freud said about dreams about flying? He said it means you are really dreaming about having sex."  
"Really? Then tell me…what does it mean when you dream about having sex?"  
~Rose Walker to Dream, in "The Doll's House" story arc of the Sandman  
  
  
It had been a long, difficult day.  
  
First, an emergency alarm at five AM. FAO Schwarz had been broken into by a gang of Class Fives.  
  
Then their previously scheduled appointments. Janine had booked them solid until well after lunchtime.  
  
Then yet another emergency call that had nearly landed Winston in the hospital. Nasty things occasionally, those Class Nine demons bent on global destruction.  
  
By the time they had returned to the glory that is Ghostbusters Central, it was well past office hours and Janine had long since gone home. It was Ray's turn to head back out for dinner (Thursdays meant sushi), and Winston's for trap duty. Peter had abruptly run off yelling about the first shower, and Egon muttered to himself about needing to do something in the lab. All was quiet in the firehouse.  
  
Not that it was meant to last, of course. Quiet seldom does.  
  
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Egon Spengler pushed his glasses back up from where they had slid down his nose with a baffled look on his face. He had faced countless forces of terror, had several degrees in various sciences, and was one of the world's most renowned inventors and physicists. It was not often when a problem would surface that could not be solved by his famous intellect.  
  
The fact that those bastards at IKEA had managed to confound him was…unsettling to say the least.  
  
"According to these deceptively simple directions, I should take screw B and insert it into slot C after assembling sections D and F." He stared down at the pile of tools, wood, and various other implements that should be his new bookshelf and desk combo. He snorted. "Then after fastening screw B into place, the next procedure is bracketing shelves M and N." A pause. "Well, that's completely illogical. The next letter of the alphabet is G…why should one insert shelves M and N before assembling area G?"  
  
"Nice to see you still remember the simpler things in life, Spengs. Sometimes your head gets so stuck in the clouds we get afraid for you, you know."  
  
Apparently, Dr. Peter Venkman was finished with his shower. He walked over to his friend and looked at the pile of debris on the floor.  
  
"Whatcha' doin'?"  
  
"I am running a marathon, Peter. What precisely do you think I am doing?"  
  
"Meow. Someone's cranky." Peter yanked the directions out of Egon's hands and started looking them over. He double-taked at the pamphlet. "Jesus Christ, this thing reads like stereo instructions. Those Swedes sure know how to complicate things."  
  
Egon was now kneeling on the floor examining the screwdriver that had come in the package, a disdainful look on his face. "Considering you have dated approximately half of that nation, I feel certain you would know firsthand."  
  
"Temper, temper." Peter smirked. "You know, Spengs, to the casual observer it'd appear as if this---" He waved his hand at the mess. "---is causing you some sort of, I dunno, problem?"  
  
"Nonsense. If I am more than capable of assembling something as intricate as the Containment Unit, I am certainly able to assemble a simple piece of furniture." The scientist had grabbed two long boards and was positioning them into an L shape.   
  
Peter glanced at the directions one more time, then at the picture on the box. He got what was commonly referred to by Winston as "Venkman's shit-eating grin" and shook his head. "Nope. You're doing it wrong."  
  
"I beg your pardon?"  
  
"I said that you're wrong. Incorrect. False. Mistaken. Erroneous. Inval---"  
  
"I am well aware of what the word 'wrong' means. Would you care to explain what you are referring to as such?"  
  
"You're jumping ahead two steps, pal. You need to put these---" He grabbed two smaller boards. "---together first, then do the longer shelves. Otherwise, you're just going to make the job both longer and harder for yourself."  
  
Egon blinked. He pushed his glasses back up to the bridge of his nose. He looked at the discarded booklet.   
  
Peter was right.   
  
Peter. Was. Right.   
  
The world truly is a scary place at times.  
  
Peter, still with the "shit-eating grin," noticed his colleague's hesitation. "You know I'm right, big guy. You KNOW it, and I bet it's eating away at that genius OOF!" He was cut off by a large plank of wood being shoved into his midsection.  
  
"Peter, if you are going to insist upon irritating me, at least be productive while doing so."  
  
"If you had wanted my help, Spengs, a simple 'please' would have sufficed," Peter managed once he had gotten his wind back. He sat down next to Egon and the two men set about construction of the new desk.  
  
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If there was anything in the world Winston Zeddmore hated, it was trap duty. Aside from not being able to slip up at all lest a specter escape, it just got tedious. Pick up trap, place in slot, double- and triple-check to ensure the trap was all the way in, push the button, wait the five minutes or so, hear the all clear, lather, rinse, repeat. A person's arm gets tired after doing the same thing over and over again, especially when they had done as much business as they had today.  
  
What he wanted at this moment was to grab a beer and relax until Ray got back with his unagi and salmon-skin rolls. He had just completed the former when he heard a strange thud come from the laboratory. Not being accustomed to hearing anything but the whirly-gig of machinery and the monthly explosion, he became a healthy combination of curious and concerned.   
  
Grabbing the spare particle-thrower they kept on the second floor for such occurrences, Winston slowly advanced on the door. In their line of work, a guy could never be too careful. As he got closer, he could make out the voices of his two friends. He stopped by the door, pausing to knock, being able to hear what was being said clearly.  
  
"---put this up your ass, Spengs."   
  
Whoa there!   
  
"Quit stalling and just shove it in, Peter. I am not going to stand about all evening and wait," came the unmistakable timbre of Egon's voice. There were muffled sounds of movement.  
  
"It doesn't seem like it wants to work that way." Peter sounded rather frustrated. "Can't you just…no hold it THIS way….."  
  
"Clearly, Peter, you are having some sort of issue. Here. You simply need to grab on to this and just push in."  
  
Winston's eyes widened as he dropped the beer onto the ground. What in hell were they doing in there?  
  
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Clearly, the people at IKEA were in the wrong business. Instead of manufacturing furniture, they should be making jigsaw puzzles.  
  
Oh sure saying place shelf R into slot J sounds simple enough. The diagrams make it look incredibly easy. Actually doing that however is a completely different matter, as the two Doctors had quickly found out.  
  
Fortunately, both men had become quite adept at improvisation over the years. They quickly figured out that the solution to this particular problem was a simple one. Brute force.  
  
"You are going to have to push harder than that, Peter, if you want this shelf to lay straight."  
  
Peter rolled his eyes. "I'm TRYING, Egon. It's not like you slipping with the damn thing every ten seconds helps."  
  
Egon shot the man his patented "Stop talking before I smite you" look. "I'll have you know that the corner piece of this desk does happen to be reasonably cumbersome. Unless you would rather we switched places?" He promptly dropped one half of the desk piece. Peter rolled his eyes again, then shifted the shelf in his arms.  
  
"Can it before I put this up your ass, Spengs."   
  
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"Gliddy glup gloopy nibby nabby noopy la la la lo lo…sabba sibby sabba nooby abba nabba le le lo lo! Tooby ooby walla nooby abba nabba…early morning singing song!!"  
  
Ray was back and bearing sushi, sashimi, and miso soup for all.   
  
"Good morning, Starshine! There's love in your skies! Reflecting the sunlight in my lover's eyes! Good morning, Starshine! So happy to be, my love and me as we sing our early morning song!"  
  
He was also tone-deaf. He placed all of the containers on the kitchen table and went searching for his housemates, continuing his jaunty-tune as he headed towards the lab.  
  
"Can you hear me? Singing a song, humming a song, singing a song, loving a song, laughing a song, singing the song. Sing the song, song the sing song song song sing sing sing sing song…"  
  
He noticed Winston standing outside the door.  
  
"Hey buddy! Soup's on whenever----"  
  
"Shhh! Ray keep it down!" Winston's ear was pressed up against the door, a look of concentration on his face. Ray was confused.  
  
"What're you doing? What's going on in there?"  
  
It suddenly struck Winston that perhaps his woefully naïve friend was a bit too naïve for what he was doing. He cleared his throat. "Um…Ray, maybe you should go set the table…."  
  
Ray looked put-out. "Nothing doing, pal. Not until you tell me what exactly you're doing."  
  
Before Winston had a chance to rely, the sounds of more shifting greeted their ears.   
  
A pause.  
  
"Spengs, I really don't think this'll fit."   
  
"Do not be absurd, just push it in really fast. All the way in!" snapped Egon. "Hurry with it!"  
  
"It's not that easy!"  
  
Ray's eyes were huge. He looked at Winston in a silent question. Winston could only nod once.  
  
"All right then. On the count of---" Egon grunted, disrupting his sentence. "---three, as hard as you can. One…two…THREE!"  
  
There was the sound of two voices groaning in unison. Ray and Winston stared at each other, frozen like deer in headlights. The groans subsided and the talking began anew.  
  
"Harder, Peter! We are almost there!"  
  
"I'm going as hard as I can, Spengs!" Another pause. "Shit. I'm stuck. It's definitely stuck."  
  
More shuffling, and what sounded suspiciously like clothing being moved. Egon sighed in consternation.  
  
"Fine. Just pull it out." He sounded very tired.   
  
Ray's face had gone chalk-white. Winston wasn't doing that much better. They were caught looking at the proverbial train wreck…they wanted to move away from the door, but they just couldn't.  
  
"It appears that I'm really, truly stuck here. There's no way I can get it out."  
  
"What are you talking about? Of course you can pull it out."  
  
"I'm telling you, it's not happening. It's way too tight." Peter sighed. "Never let it be said I do anything halfway."  
  
"Oh, honestly. Try moving it back and forth a tad. Theoretically, that should loosen the hold." More movement. "Ah there we are…yes, that's excellent. Only a little more…yes there we go…yes…Peter!" There was a loud thud and sounds of the two men grunting again.  
  
Ray finally found his voice. "I…I mean…Peter…and Egon…? They…I mean…they're not…?"  
  
Winston blinked. "I guess they are. Although it must be the first time, from the way things are sounding."  
  
Ray squeaked. "This…this is…I mean…Gosh."  
  
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Peter Venkman slowly stood up, shelf still in his hands. He smirked at the sight in front of him. Half of an assembled desk, and six feet plus of blonde scientist, glasses askew and laying flat on his back from the fall. He put the shelf down and gave Egon a hand.  
  
"What was that about just pulling harder?" The grin and smugness in Peter's voice was unmistakable.  
  
"I stand corrected." Egon winced. "Although, I am currently calling into question my ability to sit for the next few days. It appears you took my advice a little too stridently."  
  
Outside, Winston was shocked. "The next few days?" He thought about what had just been said. "Wait a minute…Egon just complimented Peter on something?!"   
  
Ray was backing away slowly to the kitchen. "I…I think we should go. I…I don't think we should be listening to this. My Aunt Lois…she always told me that eavesdroppers go to hell. I think…I think she may have been on to something." He grabbed one of Winston's arms and was trying to pull him from the door.  
  
"I just…I can't get over this. Peter…and Egon! This is…it's against the natural order of things…it has to be!" The two men walked away in disbelief, each lost in their own thoughts about what they had heard.  
  
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A short time later, the beast had been tamed, the battle won, and the desk/bookshelf combo hutch assembled. There was much rejoicing.  
  
Peter and Egon finally emerged from the lab, both men sweaty. Egon's typically immobile hairstyle was in shambles and Peter's clothes were in complete disarray. They unenthusiastically walked into the kitchen where they were greeted by the sight of Winston and Ray debating about something.   
  
If they hadn't been so tired, they might have become suspicious at the sudden silence at their arrival. Wordlessly, Egon handed Peter his nanban rolls and cup of soup. Peter passed the soy sauce and a pair of chopsticks. The two men ate until they realized that they were being stared at.  
  
"What?" Peter asked around a mouthful of seaweed and rice.   
  
Winston cleared his throat and promptly started looking anywhere in the room but at Peter and Egon. Ray was blushing and staring down at his plate. Egon raised an eyebrow and looked at Peter, whose only reply was to shrug and keep shoveling in his food.  
  
"Gentlemen, if you insist upon watching Dr. Venkman and myself enjoy our dinner, I entreat you to at least be somewhat subtle. The way the two of you are acting is…unnerving, to say the least." Peter had run out of nanban rolls and was slowly reaching a hand towards Egon's California rolls. The physicist didn't even look down as he stopped him with his chopsticks. Peter shook his hand out and gave Egon a very perturbed look. Egon merely smirked as he raised his eyebrow again.  
  
A skirmish over Egon's sushi was nothing new, yet this time Ray started blushing more and Winston choked on his soup, both men grabbing their plates and muttering about a television program as they ran out of the room.  
  
Peter blinked at Egon. Egon blinked at Peter.  
  
"What the hell? What's their damage?"  
  
Egon pushed his glasses up where they belonged. "I could not tell you, Peter. We will just have to ask them about it later."  
  
"Right. Oh sweet, Ray left half his food behind!" Peter munched happily on the leftovers on the table.  
  
"Oh, and Peter?"  
  
"Mmphphmmm?"   
  
"Thank you again for your assistance with my desk."  
  
The sound of one man swallowing a large conglomeration of sushi and grinning. "No prob, Spengs. Anytime."  
  
*~* LE FIN *~*  
  
But don't fret kids, there is a sequel! I mean, wait until Dr. V and Spengs there find out what Ray and Winston think. Insanity can be fun! 


End file.
